


Mistakes and Half a Bottle of Firewhiskey

by hankypotram



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Banter, Dirty Jokes, Gryffindor Party, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Humour, M/M, Sexual Tension, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 15:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12986970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hankypotram/pseuds/hankypotram
Summary: Remus changes his mind about parties.





	Mistakes and Half a Bottle of Firewhiskey

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a day. Can I apologise beforehand about the jab at Peter.

Fuck this. 

Now, he didn't necessarily mean for this to be fucked, as in fucked fucked, as that would be a bit fucked up. He had no desire to fuck this, in that sense of the word. Was that providing any clarity? Probably not. Let me explain.

The 'this' that he was referring to, was in fact, a party. A very loud, obnoxious party, where half of the Gryffindor population were in a drunken stupor and attempting to cannibalise the nearest face, and the other half were heading in that direction, chugging the spiked and bright purple punch with the vigour of an alcoholic idiot who got himself lost in the Sahara and had a spare bottle handy. He had assumed that the Firewhiskey wouldn't be introduced until the Fourth Years had gone to bed; oh, how wrong he was. The fourteen-year-olds were almost the worst of the lot, eagerly grabbing dirty cups off of the floor just so they could get another drop of alcohol, and taking up the nice spot in front of the fire with a game of Spin the Bottle – or a desperate attempt to get with someone, as he liked to call it. 

However, the true worst people in the room, in his opinion, were the couple sitting on the arm of his chair. Dry-humping each other. So, yes, his earlier sentiment was now reiterated: Fuck this. Emphasis on the 'fuck', since that was what the couple obviously intended to do, perhaps right in the middle of the common room. It wasn't a particularly fantastic chair either, so he was understandably confused why the Fifth Year girl who was currently having her face sucked off by someone who looked surprisingly like a Dementor – gaping hole of a mouth and all – was straddling the arm like a one of those bull rides they have at fairgrounds. It was remarkably unpleasant.

Actually, the phrase should be altered a little: Fuck them, and fuck this. Fuck everything. All he wanted to do was read a bit of Victor Hugo, yet instead he got a face full of hair and a steady stream of very disturbing noises in his ears. Where were his friends when he needed them?

Ah. Judging from the very smug face of Sirius, who was currently bounding towards him, stumbling slightly, they were probably doing the exact same thing as everybody else.

"Moony!" he yelled in his ear. Yes, definitely drunk. "I just got with, uh..." He scanned the room. "That girl! That one."

Remus sighed. "Which one?"

Sirius gleefully gestured at a raven-haired girl, who was presently running her hand up another person's arm. Sirius' eyes were a little misty; Remus couldn't tell if it was from the sub-par punch, or the fact he had kissed a real life, breathing female. But the strange thing was, it made him feel even more sober when he thought about it a little more. It was like his lungs were pushing a bit too much against his ribs, making an odd sort of pressure build up in his chest, like a bubble straining against his insides, about to burst. That dreamy expression, which he had seen countless times before, was making him feel positively sick. 

"Moony?" Sirius asked, nudging his knee. Remus was feeling more ill by the minute. 

"Budge up," Sirius said finally, after a moment's silence. Probably looking at that girl again. 

Sirius hit his arm. Remus turned to him, raising an eyebrow, before signalling towards to the incredibly, uh, raunchy couple still going at it on the arm of his chair. "I can't really." 

"Oi!" Sirius stood in front of them, hands on his hips, not even wincing when the boy let out a breathy moan, not dissimilar to an out-of-breath cow. Their lips parted, and they looked up at his vexed expression. "Can you go fuck somewhere else?" 

They immediately scrambled apart, mumbling apologies, and scurried off to a different corner of the common room to continue playing tonsil tennis. Sirius then looked at Remus, suitably satisfied, and plopped onto his lap. 

Oh no. 

"I need a drink," said Remus. And he certainly did. 

"Ok, well, let's get one then," Sirius replied, jumping up and heaving Remus up with him. He clasped Remus' shoulder and propelled him through the crowd, Remus a little helpless, and grabbed a half-empty bottle of Odgen's Finest – and he wasn't quite sure why it was called that, since it tasted like burning and cat piss – having a swig before passing it to Remus.

He looked at it hesitantly. Would it really make anything better? Make this weird, uncomfortable feeling go away? He stopped breathing for a moment, stopped thinking, and closed his eyes. Then he necked it. 

"Fucking hell." 

"Jesus Christ Remus," Sirius looked a little surprised at his fervour. "You just... you just downed it." 

"Shit," was all that he could say. His head was spinning, blood pumping furiously around it to create some sort of merry-go-round that thumped at every passing opportunity in his eardrums. If he felt sick before, he felt completely diseased now. On the brink of death. 

"Shit," Sirius echoed, watching Remus slowly blink a few times. Remus put his arm out to lean on the nearest table, and stared at Sirius blankly, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. "You alright mate?" 

He paused. His mouth tasted like a drunk tramp had taken a piss in it, mistaking it for a urinal or an alleyway or something. But there was a sort of buzz building in his chest, making that strange bubble from earlier vibrate with warmth. 

"Yeah," he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. He looked at Sirius, who was staring back with unconcealed shock. "I'm alright." 

Sirius' lips split into a grin. "Alright," he replied. "Alright." 

He put an arm around Remus, which made Remus feel a bit odd again, but it was alright, because his chest was heaving and buzzing and burning up. He no longer felt ill. He felt electric. 

"Oi, mate!" James called from the nearest sofa, his head resting on the faded red arm, thankfully not being ground on by a bunch of randy teenagers like every other piece of furniture in the room. He was holding a hip flask sloshing with clear alcohol; with his bloody name engraved on it. Oh dear. 

"What?" Remus shouted back, turning around, tempted to flip a bird just to rile him up – he didn't though, seeing as it was likely he would end up with a black eye from a hard metal object, either his posh hip flask or the snitch he inexplicably had with him at all times. Sirius, on the other hand, gave in to the temptation and spun around to face him, whacking up a great middle finger; and Remus fancied himself to be a diviner, since almost immediately James threw his open hip flask at Sirius' head, not even bothering to get out of his seat, the liquor spilling onto Sirius' shirt. It didn't look like he cared much, surprisingly. 

"Have you actually drunk anything, or have you sat in the corner like a loner, reading your old lady book?" James teased. "That's the only action you'll ever get, let's be honest." 

"Uh, yeah, I had a drink," Remus was indignant. He had the strange urge to fight him. Must be the alcohol. "Looks like you've had a bit too much, you wino. Have you even talked to anyone, or are you waiting for your one true love to sh-" 

"Shut up, you wankstain," was James' heated reply. He made no effort to move, but gestured for the hip flask he had so kindly thrown at Sirius. Remus chucked it back, perhaps a little too forcefully. "I'm not a wino. This is cold hard liquor. Anyway, bet the closest you've got to a girl tonight is Sirius." 

"Yeah, you thought he was reading. We've actually been going at it for hours," Sirius joked, wrapping an arm around Remus' shoulder and pulling him closer, sending him a saucy wink and running his tongue over his teeth. He laughed. Fucking hell. "And guess what?" 

"What?" 

"It was in your bed." James rose.

"You fuckers!" 

"Oh, I'm sorry," Remus cut in. "Were you saving your bed's virginity as well as your own?" He pretended to look innocent, while Sirius gasped, choking on his laugh, James standing there, getting redder by the second. 

"I'm not a virgin!" James shrieked. Remus raised a single eyebrow, and James sagged.

"Mate, you were saying Moons wasn't getting any action, but you're only getting it on by sticking your bed post up y-" 

"Alright," Remus interrupted, managing to stop Sirius from saying, uh, that. "Let's just agree that neither James nor I are getting any." 

"You forgot about me!" he exclaimed."What about all of those nights, Remus? How could you forget?" He turned to James. "It all started when I was lying on the bed, and Remus, with this look on his face, he ca-" 

"Sirius," Remus said. James had turned into a beetroot, from the looks of it. A drunken beetroot, attempting to listen to Sirius' tale, while at the same time being thoroughly perturbed.

"And we were going at it like mad! Like he was h-" 

"Sirius! Jesus Christ!" Remus, despite being disturbed by Sirius' vivid imagination, was sort of enjoying Sirius' odd banter. "What the hell?" Then he – well, maybe the alcohol was talking - decided to just go for it. What the fuck. "Actually, he approached me." 

"Fuck off, no I didn't. You started it." 

"Yeah," Remus retorted, the alcohol making his head lighter but his voice clearer and almost more cocky. He almost as red as James, who was watching in partial shock, and that sort of ruined the effect. "I was reading a book, you know, trying to have a peaceful night, and he comes over, in your Snitch briefs James, and he says to me, out of the blue, "Remus, I want to fuck-" 

"Remus, you scummy fucker!" Sirius yelled. "Lies, all of it!" 

"No, you were on your knees, Sirius!" Shit, he didn't mean to say that. 

"Yeah? Well at least I wasn't taking it up th-" 

"Merlin!" James said, eyes wide. "Guys, are you alright?" 

"He's as drunk as a niffler, this one," Sirius pointed at Remus. 

"As a niffler? The fuck? When has a niffler ever been drunk?" Remus countered, criticising Sirius' comment – no, he wasn't humiliated by how much he had drunk, not at all. 

"As an alcoholic, then," Sirius looked put out. "Point is, you're fucking pissed."

"So are you," Remus said, disgruntled. "And James is the worst of us all, and he didn't even fuck someone."

"Yeah, James. Lonely boozer, eh?"

"You're disowned as my friends," James muttered, although a grin was splitting on his face. He punched Sirius in the shoulder, and tried to give Remus a noogie, although he darted from his grasp, leaving James to stumble into empty space with his alcohol splashing a little on the floor. He scowled. 

"I'll be right back," he said loudly. "I need to get me more of this vonka." 

"It's vodka you cretin," Remus chuckled, Sirius looking a little confused since he had absolutely no clue what that was. 

"Fuck the both of you," James stated emphatically. Remus laughed, Sirius' arm still wrapped around him, his copy of Les Misérables forgotten in the corner in the vacated seat, its cover faded and pages creased. Remus, amid the collective yelling of him and Sirius and an intoxicated James who was no longer lying down, finally stopping his throwing of the snitch – at one point Remus had spotted him trying to eat it – and going over to the drinks table; was very much aware of Sirius' hand on the small of his back. It felt warm. The room was quite warm, he reasoned.

"Hey," murmured Sirius, his hot breath whispering on the shell of Remus' ear. This room was far too hot. 

"Hey," he replied quietly, fingers skimming across Sirius' shoulder as he manoeuvred himself, trying to get to the sofa James was previously sitting on, suddenly quite dizzy.

"Firewhiskey got to you that fast?" asked Sirius, noticing Remus' hazy expression, snickering slightly. "Lightweight." 

"Fuck off," Remus countered, leaning on Sirius slightly to reduce the unsteadiness. "At least I haven't put my hand up about twelve skirts." 

"One of them was wearing jeans," Sirius looked like he was trying to make a point. "Plus, it was only three, and none of them could ever live up to your incandescent resplendence." 

"Pads, how do you not have finger herpes?"

"Wanker." Sirius shoved him. "Nah, I don't really go, uh, there. Just around. It's a bit sticky." 

"That's disgusting! I did not need to know that," Remus winced at the image. No thanks. 

"Yes, you did. I did it once," he shuddered. "Never again." 

The room was too hot.

"I prefer just snogging, anyway," Sirius remarked, shrugging. Instinctively Remus' gaze flicked to Sirius' lips. Mistake. "Speaking of, Moony, have you ever actually snogged someone?" 

Shitting hell. Um, how was he supposed to answer this? Of course, he had swapped spit with someone, but, uh, well. Maybe not someone Sirius may expect. 

"Was it Emmeline? Apparently, she's had her eye on you for a while," Sirius prompted. "Go on." 

"Uh." Shit. How could he put this? "I, um, snogged someone like a month ago." 

"What?" Sirius exclaimed, affronted. "And you didn't tell me? I must say, I'm disappointed, Lupin." 

"Just because you tell me in detail about every single sexual conquest-" 

"This friendship is a sham. Do you even care about me, Remus?" Sirius grabbed his collar, pulling a face that would fit right into an over-the-top soap opera. "Do you even care? Who was it? We had so much fun on James' bed, how could you forget about me like this?" 

"You're such a twat," he laughed. He felt a bit hot around the collar. A few pairs of quizzical eyes were on them at this point, it must be that. He would never put it past Sirius to create a scene. 

'You're my one true love, Moony. More than Evans is to Prongs. But..." And he looked up at Remus with watering eyes; how on earth did he manage to fake-cry? "I guess you don't feel the same."

"Sirius," Remus replied, cheeks stained with red. He decided it would be minutely less embarrassing if he played along than if he stood there like an out-of-place turnip, so he put some melodrama into his voice."I would never."

"Oh, Remus. I can't trust you anymore," he sighed, hand on his heart. 

"You just weren't the one for me," Remus looked sadly down at the floor. "I'm sorry, Sirius." He then narrowed his eyes at the Fourth Years staring at them, whose eyes turned the other way faster than Filch ran when spotting a couple kissing in the broom cupboards, Mrs Norris – or, as James and Sirius liked to call her, 'wifey' - prowling behind. Laughing a little, he steered Sirius away from the centre of the room. 

"Who was it, though?" Sirius looked up at him, strangely bitter. "Don't be shy." 

"You know," he said, uncharacteristically awkward in front of his best friend. "Some person in our year." 

"But..." Sirius looked aggravated. "Who?" 

"Mate, can we -" Remus sighed. "Not here, okay?" 

Sirius' eyebrows furrowed. "Wait, why?" He looked genuinely concerned, which, honestly, made the situation worse. 

Oh, bloody hell. Time to get this over with. And from the beginning he knew the fallout would be inevitable, yet he still went through with it, and here the consequences had arrived, on a lovely silver platter with silver eyes and surprisingly warm hands.

It had been impulsive when it happened. And usually he didn't do impulsive, but he was bored, and for a moment, he didn't really give a shit about anything. He didn't know what he was doing, but neither did the person he was kissing, fumbling and sloppy and hurried in a dark broom cupboard during a night of Prefect rounds. It wasn't fireworks, or anything, but it was pleasant, and he enjoyed it when it lasted. It's when they parted that the actual realisation had hit him – and, thinking about it, he could have reacted in a slightly more, ah, rational way. By that, he meant he bolted. He still had an hour of rounds left. The problem was, him ditching his Prefect duties wasn't the worst part. 

That was left to the fact that the person he was getting off with in a broom cupboard was a friend. A male friend.

"Come with me," he muttered, dragging a perplexed Sirius behind him towards the stairs leading to the boy's dormitories. He vaguely heard Sirius grumbling about how he would prefer if they sat on the girl's steps, but his heart hammering in his ears sort of drowned that out. He was probably stumbling too, being the graceful and drunk being that he was.   
He sat down on the cold, stone steps, thankful for the icy temperature compared to his body. He let his head rest on the step a few above for a moment, trying to regain his senses, avoiding the gaze of a curious Sirius. 

"Well?" he asked expectantly. The stairwell was empty, but still pulsing with heat. "What's so important that you have to tell me outside the party?" 

"I, um." Well done Lupin, eloquent as usual. His ears were hot, and he avoided Sirius' gaze. His words stuck in his throat, struggling to make any noise at all, and he had to take a moment to force them out. He, of course, didn't want to retell the entire story, since that would make the circumstances even poorer. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment to try and reclaim some sort of clarity. 

"It was Benjy." 

Not a single word. Not even a breath. 

"Fuck." 

"Yeah." It was really too hot in this room.

"I, uh, I had no idea." 

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Why didn't you... why didn't you say earlier?" No anger yet. Just a sort of... tone of realisation. 

'I just... I don't know," Remus said honestly, uncomfortably warm. "It felt weird." 

"Don't worry Remus," Sirius responded with an unusual softness in his tone. In fact, he sounded somewhat relieved, as if he were expecting something worse. "This won't change anything." 

Remus smiled sadly. "Let's be honest, it changes a lot." He tried to inject some lightness into his voice, using James' technique for these sort of situations; cracking an awful joke. "For one, Peter's going to be even more scared of me."

"Yeah, he'll think you're ogling him or some shit. He won't realise you have to actually be attractive to be ogled in the first place." 

"Ouch," Remus replied with a small chuckle, finally looking at Sirius. His eyes were burning into him, as if his irises had become molten metal, and unreadable. He was about to make another joke, although it was immediately cut off by the realisation of just how close he was to Sirius. His vision, despite being blurry from inebriation, sharpened, his senses pinpointing each heated place where their skin met, until they blazed to the same temperature as the Firewhiskey still faintly burning his tongue.   
He could feel the heat radiating off of his body. He smelt like alcohol and fire and something far muskier. It was strangely pleasant. 

In that moment, he thought about something. It was nothing to do with Benjy or Prefects or any of that night, but it filled him with guilt heavier than a thousand stones weighing in his chest; and he didn't know why he felt so guilty, just that he did. There were a lot of things that night that he couldn't explain, and this thought, this urge, was the worst. He glanced up at Sirius, who was still looking at him intently, as if he were a book on something mysterious and slightly odd. It was strange, coming from such a spontaneous, loud boy, to see an analytical look; especially towards him. He was trying to figure him out, and Remus sincerely hoped he wouldn't, as he would find out something so peculiar and, God, debauched, that he would be forced to dissociate with him. It was so wrong. He couldn't do that to one of his best friends.

The heat was unbearable. Fucking hell.

"Remus?" he said, his words hanging in the air, like there were a hundred things he wanted to say, but couldn't. He could barely breathe.

"Yeah?" he answered, not daring to shatter the fragile atmosphere that had been created. His thoughts were clamouring to be released, but he forced them down with his remaining scrap of logic.

"Can I do something?" 

Silence.

"Yeah."

Sirius hesitated for a second, eyes darting around the room, before fixing on a certain point. He leaned in slightly, as if the energy throbbing in the room was physically hurting him and he dared not disturb it.

And then their lips connected.

Fuck.

It wasn't magical, or anything. They were both still drunk, tasting like Firewhiskey, and messy and frantic and hot, far too hot, burning up like a fever, sweating and gasping and so hot that it was painful, so acute that it almost hurt to continue, but it kept going and going and burning and burning, the fever so intense that it was unstoppable. Maybe later they would regret this, regret ever getting drunk in the first place. But for now, they were alight, revelling in the unnatural feeling of each other's lips, and the torturous heat scorching their skin. The moment, as cheesy as it sounded, seemed finite yet endless at the same time, a lifetime flashing before his eyes in a second, and it scared him but drew him to it at the same time. The only thing he could hear was the low hum of energy and his heartbeat and Sirius' heartbeat and-

"Guys?"

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks. Can I apologise afterwards for the sad attempt at writing.


End file.
